patron saint of this northbound feeling inside me,
waking up with the sun still the same, my limbs still
grass stained and soggy. I am a weather vane, always
pointing in the wrong direction,
easily swayed. The same sun takes my hand and shimmies
across the sky with its shine, chlorine cheeks,
a new smile. Time passes benevolently.
A thumbed lattice bird feeder stands staring in the garden,
where creatures such as we will peck and giggle and feel :
you are never too good to be shared amongst friends. I have seen
enough tears in torrential rain to drench that painted sky,
seeping, speaking into a new daybreak. The knots in my shoulders uncoil,
balls of wool dissolve near my gums,
viscosity speaking of peace, manicured lawns, teeth-white shoelaces.
This forecast of pleasure, like a forehead kiss,
as I step out, if for a moment, of the sand timer my life is so used to
buckling, conforming to.
You’re a keepsake. The woman in the shop hands me a candle,
says ‘keep safe’. Outside the world is shouting
on the contrary !
to fill my aching heart;
the gorgeous smiles from those I love, the way music wraps itself
around my ribcage, nudging my ear to go back to harmonious sleep.
I have been all for none, a shifting decimal point,
but daybreak calls. This life is in addition, is sunny skies.
One plus one plus more and more to come.
An 18 year old word chef from London, England, Olivia Burgess will soon embark on an English degree
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